Welcome writers to my first story published on this site. I've just recently seen the movie Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter and I absolutely love it. The following night, I had a dream about it. Though most of it made no sense what so ever, I have written the majority of the dream down and turned it into a story for you to enjoy. All characters in this chapter are made up by myself, and other names that are mentioned that may seem familiar most likely are and are not property of me. You get the memo. So, without further-a-do, This is the story. I will update as often as I can, or if you prefer me not to, leave comments, please! All critiques are welcome and highly recommended.

Chapter 1

"This is the last time!" I tell myself as I close my favorite book for what seems like the hundredth time tonight. I have read it more than once, more than a few times, actually. I can't help myself, only because I love stories about vampires, but more so about things that were never meant to be, but are toyed with anyway. When the re-written, fantasy- fiction version of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies was released (or found I should say), I couldn't put it down. Now Mr. Grahame-Smith, with his glorious fan fictional gifts, has written another book called Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, the unanswered myth of one of our greatest presidents. Though I know this story could never possibly be true, it fills me with the satisfaction that someone else out there feels the need to saturate silly dreams of young women, like myself, with wondrous stories. I, like so many others, couldn't help but daydream about being a vampire when I was younger. I know now, vampires are really not all that they are cracked up to be: they live for eternity, they must feed on other living things for blood, and they are always being hunted, in ever story I've ever read.

I know I could not live for eternity. I want to die someday, as every one does. There are too many things I do not wish to see that I know will happen after my lifetime. Just the idea of living while the relatives and the friends that I love all die around me is a heartbreaking thought. I wouldn't want that. To live eternally alone, that is an undesirable thought, and never could I turn another person into what I am, if I were a vampire. I could never hurt another living thing, let alone feed on one. My mother always wondered why a vegetarian could be so fascinated by vampires. "You know what they eat, right?" my mother asked the first day I brought home a vampire book. Of course I hadn't, but that didn't stop me from reading them.

I've read them all, from Twilight to Vampire Academy to Japanese Animation, and more. I almost started writing my own vampire story once, but there was so much about vampires I didn't know, I couldn't finish it. Plus, I wasn't the best writer anyway, still being in Middle School and all. I'd like to think my writing skill has improved. I drabble and write short stories when I feel the need, which I sometimes let friends read, and of course they tell me I am incredible, but only because they are my friends. I know I can't be that good.

I set the book I have just finished on the table beside my bed and yawn. Looking at the time, it doesn't surprise me to learn it is nearly two in the morning. I often stay up late to read, whether a favorite book or a simple magazine. My mother has given up on setting a bedtime for me, because she knows even though I am in bed, I can't fall directly asleep unless I read first. A few years ago, my father bought me a bible to read at night. "It's better to fill your dreams with the Word than silly fantasy stories," he says, and sometimes I agree, but I know for a fact that someone can't control their dreams by what they read at night. When I have nightmares from some of the books I read, I like reading my bible then, and I know it pleases my father to see me reading it.

I get up from underneath the covers of my bed and walk into my bathroom. The lights are still on; I leave the bathroom lights on so I can read, and they don't reflect into the hallway like my ceiling lights do, so my mother doesn't always catch me up so late. I have a lot of lotions and cosmetics in my bathroom, thanks to my perfectionist mother. Being an actress, my mother always tries to look her best, no matter where she goes, and she's always buying me make-up, and skin care lotions, and hair products so I can too. I'm not saying I complain about it, but it does get a little annoying, because I know looking my best isn't the most important thing I should worry about.

Though my skin is near perfect, my hair is long, curly, and flawless, and I have the body of a trained acrobat, I don't get as much attention in school as my mother thinks I do, though I don't make it a point to attract others, either. I tend to keep to myself during my classes, spending more time than needed in the library, and hardly any time on campus after classes are over. I don't have that many friends, but what friends I do have are about as 'low profile' as I am.

My best friend is a beautiful, Hispanic girl named Jacquelyn. We've known each other ever since she stole my spot in line to get my favorite Black Widow comic signed by Stan Lee at Comic Con, seventeen years ago. It had to be the best day of my life. Some of my other friends include two of the nerdiest twins I have ever met, Bradley and Jason Cooper (They remind me so much of the twins from Harry Potter, I always call them Weasley Boys.), and another comic loving geek named Marissa.

Over the past three years, I've spent almost all of my time with my friends, going to college parties, watching the Big Bang Theory on weeknights, and sometimes traveling to New York for Comic Con. A couple years ago, the five of us went to the Avengers Panel in New York City, which turned out to be one of the best Comic Cons in the history of the world. I remember the bet each of us made that whoever's questions get answered first or answered at all wouldn't have to drive on the way back home or pay for any of the food or gas. Marissa won the bet.

I sigh and look at myself in the mirror. What I see is not at all different from what I'm use to seeing, just a twenty-two year old woman dressed in fuzzy blue pajama pants and a black tank top. I don't have any jewelry on, though I hardly ever do, nor am I wearing make-up at this time. In routine, I apply night lotion to my skin and brush my long, dark hair into a high bun for the night. Its hard to confess, but the one thing I hate about my body the most is that my head tends to sweat during the night, and I know if I don't put my hair up it'll be drenched when I wake in the morning. Satisfied by the tightness of my hair bun, I turn off the lights and go back to bed.

Even though I was just in bed, the bed sheets are freezing and goose bumps appear all over my skin as I slide under the covers. It's a warm summer night, yet three large comforters pile on top of me. I've always slept this way, since before I can remember. I have a low tolerance for the cold, only because I hardly have any natural body heat, though I never knew why. When I was younger, I always thought it was because I was a vampire. Kids at school teased me for it, and my mother and father were concerned by it. Of course, I know better now, but one never wishes to stop pretending. One always wishes, as I still do every night, but never about the same thing.

I wish for all sorts of things: to die only from old age, to never loose a family pet, that someday I will find a loving husband, like my father is to my mother. Sometimes I wish to be part of one of the books I read, to be the character of someone else's story. I wish I could create my own world and live amongst the things of my imagination. Some nights, I dream of it.

I dream the stories I write are real. I dream I am a different person with a different name, living in some strange world, a world that I control. I can do what I want, be anyone I want to be, I can meet anyone I choose, travel wherever I want to go, and it never stops. Until I wake up, and then my traitorous mind reminds me that nothing is real. It's a reincarnated heartbreak.

I shake those thoughts away for now. Whatever I dream of tonight won't be too much of a heartbreak, because I know I have a big day ahead of me. With the exams of the final semester arriving around the corner, I know tomorrow will be a busy day of studying and writing. The idea of giving a speech in Public Speaking makes me tremble, but not as bad as the thoughts of performing for Solo and Ensemble next week. I won't be singing, but I do play the piano parts for two of the songs, and though I've been practicing for weeks, I feel a bit nervous thinking about it. I close my eyelids after attempting to remember the names to the two pieces of music, turning out unsuccessful.

I'm too tired to think anymore. Wrapping the covers close to me, I sigh and snuggle close to my pillow. At will, my mind wonders back to the book on my bedside table and a small smile stretches across my face. I wonder what would happen if I ever met a vampire. If it were trying to kill me, I think, I would scream and run for my life, of course. Then I think of vampires like Henry Sturges, the creature seeking redemption in the tale of Abraham Lincoln. What would I do in the case of meeting him?

I often find myself drawn to the side characters of most books, not because of their lack of core interest, but because of the way they are portrayed. In Henry's case, it is the representation of the character that attracts me. The implication of his actions serves only the well being of mankind and not his own need for revenge. Not many characters, I find, are as strongly composed as Henry Sturges. Bless you for that, Seth Grahame-Smith.

The thoughts in my mind begin to feel hazy as I'm slowly drifting to sleep. Sighing peacefully, I think no more of vampires, or school, or of the names of some music. That is, until I am jolted awake suddenly by the sound of a loud thump outside my window. My heart is racing and I quickly clutch onto my blankets for assurance that I am still in my bed. The room is silent now, but my body is no longer tired. Breathing calmly to slow the beating of my heart, I rise from my bed.

I stand in front of my window, wondering what the noise could have been. Perhaps it was a bird, which means it's probably badly hurt after the hitting my window so hard. Then I think, maybe it was just a twig or something that fell in the current of the wind. Or maybe someone is down below, throwing rocks to get my attention, like in the romantic stories. I nudge away the last thought, knowing it can't be that, but I grow worried at the thought of it possibly being a bird. To make sure, I open my bedroom window and peer down below.

The porch lights are still on, I notice, and I can see the entire back yard. I search the freshly cut grass for any sign of a bird, or a boy, but can see neither option. I simply shrug my shoulders and turn back to my bed. There's nothing for me to worry about, I think. As soon as I'm facing my bed, I hear it again. I stop, chills running through my entire body. I am too afraid to turn around. What if there is a burglar or something. I don't stay too long to find out. I run across my room to the door, grabbing my warm, white robe before exiting the room.

I sprint down the hall to my parent's bedroom. Before knocking, I hear the sound again. I am terrified by this point. I knock three times on the bedroom door, each with seconds apart from each other. After, complete silence fills the hall. No one answers me. "Mom?" I call. No answer. I knock again, louder this time. "Dad, please open up. I need to talk to you." But no one answers my call. Where are they? I think for a moment that they might be outside, sitting on the porch. That would explain why the lights were on. I sigh and race down the stairs, my robe soaring behind me.

The house is completely dark and silent. This isn't too unfamiliar, but never have I recalled my child hood home being this quiet. Not stopping for even a second, I march to the sliding doors leading out to the porch. Opening one, I peek outside and see neither of my parents. Their lawn chairs are sitting empty on the lawn, so I know they were there at some point.

Before closing the door, I hear my mother's laughter and I see my parents walking toward the line of trees, perfectly arranged at the edge of our yard. I sigh with relief, and suddenly wonder what they are doing out so late. Ignoring the possibilities for now, I quickly make my way to them, not taking my eyes away from them for a second. My mother must have heard me coming because she turns to me, smiling in concern. "Can't sleep, Sweetheart?" she asks. I am about to answer her when I hear a high tweet at my feet. I look down and see a small bird, hopping around the ground with one of his wings. So a bird did run into my window, I think, and then wonder about the other thumps. Was it a family of suicidal birds?

I try and pick up the bird, but he hops away, tweeting hysterically. "Oh, leave him be, Dear," My father tells me, but I pursue the bird anyway. When I finally have him in my hands, I look back up at my parents, smiling in triumph, but my mother and father are no longer there. I gasp, looking around the yard. "Mom? Dad?" I don't see them anywhere. Cursing under my breath, I realize they snuck away behind the line of trees. "Come on, guys." Setting the bird down again, I quickly follow them. What are they up to, anyway?

I push my way past the trees, getting a few scratches in the process. The branches seem to take a hold of me, entwining themselves in my hair. I force myself free, ignoring the fact that my hair tie is now stuck somewhere in the tangled twigs. When my feet find cement on the other side, I am met with an empty sidewalk on either side of me. The street light above me is not on, which frightens me a great deal. I pull my robe close to me and call for my parents. Tears are threatening to seep through the corners of my eyes. I am petrified, not knowing if I should go back to the house or attempt to find my parents. I wonder more why my mother and father are trying to hide from me and where they are going. I suddenly wish I had my bible with me.

Without a straight decision in my head, my feet start walking down the right side of the sidewalk, as if my mind no longer has connection to tell them to stop. My heart is beating in a pace that scares me; I can feel it pumping in my throat. The cold air sends shivers down my back. I pull my robe tighter, but it does little help against my fear. Every few seconds I call for my mother and father, but neither of them answers me. Tears are rolling down my cheeks. I hate this!

The next thing I know, I turn around a corner to a street I don't recognize even though I have lived on this block my entire life. I think about turning around, but my feet do not obey my wish. They trudge on, leading me into a dark fog that settles up ahead of my path. All I want is to go home. Screw my parents. They would leave me here in an unknown place to fend for myself. I hate them. I tremble slightly and wrap my arms around each other. I call for my mother again in a hoarse voice. I wish I could find them.

Behind me, a twig snaps and I stop when the sound of footsteps draws near to me. I hear them creeping behind me for a few seconds, and then they stop, as does the beating of my heart. I hold my breath feeling as if the world is suddenly spinning around me. I close my eyes, wishing I could just be in my room. Then the footsteps continue, quicker this time. As if some urge awakens inside me, I open my eyes and run. I run as fast as I can in a direction I am not sure will lead me anyway. I want to scream, but no sound comes out of my mouth. I can't hear anything but the low breathing of the thing that is following me, and I know it's getting close. I try and run faster, but my entire body feels like it's going to fall apart. I spin around another corner, nearly out of breath. My sides feel crunched, like they're slowing caving in, crushing my ribs, and the pain in my feet is too unbearable for me to continue running. All I can think about is how much I hate my parents.

And then, it happens. All the breath inside my lungs is released with one single gasp and I'm surprisingly no longer running, but falling. The ground comes up to meet me in a swift movement, yet it almost feels like the world is moving in slow motion. I'm too late to bring my arms out in front of my face to protect it from the cold, hard cement. I slightly turn my head as the sidewalk smacks into my cheek. I feel my teeth cutting into the inside of my mouth and fresh blood running over my tongue. As I lie there, pain takes over my entire body. I feel dizzy and tired. My breath is gone, but I can't bring myself to inhale. Though the blow to my head feels horrible, there is a deeper, excruciating pain in my left shoulder.

With what strength I have remaining in my body, I flip myself on my back. The pain in my shoulder screams at me and I cry out in anguish. Then I realize, as I glance at the blood stained on the upper-left side of my robe, that I had been shot. Whoever was following me obviously could not catch up, so they shot me to bring me down. I grew even more terrified at understanding this. I tightly closed my eyes as my mind caught up with the rest of the pain in my body. I could taste blood in my mouth, but could not bring myself to spit it out.

I finally remembered how to breathe in that moment. I gasped for air, tears running down the sides of my face, as the footsteps that had pursued me stop at my side. I can't open my eyes to look upon my attacker. I can't even plea for my life. Even though my eyelids are closed and all I can see is darkness, I feel nauseous and a sour grumble arouses in my stomach. I think I'm going to puke.

As I wait for whoever attacked me to pick me up, rape me, do something, I'm holding my breath. I wait for what seems like hours. Maybe it was hours, but nothing happens. When I finally open my eyes, I look around the sidewalk, which I am confined to, but see absolutely no one. I slowly rise to a sitting position, searing pain running through my entire left side, and look around at a better angle. There is no one there, not a single person in sight. For a moment I think I'm going crazy. There had to have been someone, I think. Who else could have shot me?

I glance at the wound in my shoulder, peeling away the soaked robe from my reddened skin. The gouge where the bullet had ripped me open is deep, but I can't feel a bullet remaining there. I figure it simply ripped me open and flew out the other side, but the pain I feel is horrible. I slowly rise to my feet, wobbling as I do. I feel a sticky wetness from the line of my hair all the way to my neck and realize where I had hit my head on the sidewalk is also bleeding pretty badly. I am in loads of pain and wish more than anything to find my parents.

I begin to walk back in the direction I had come as quickly as my aching feet can manage. How did this happen to me? Why would my folks let this happen to me? What kind of parents are they, anyway? I think, after I get home, I'm going to move in with Jacquelyn to finish college.